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It wasn’t a camera that I saw peeking out of the window.
No.
That was a gun.
I pushed the pedal down, but he was already squeezing off shots.
Screams erupted on the streets as I gunned it forward, watching the woman drop her phone, her body frozen, confused. Or in shock.
Cutting off the path of the bullets with my vehicle, I leaned over my center console and threw open the passenger door as a bullet dinged into the trunk of my car.
“Get in!” I yelled.
Her fight-or-flight instinct finally seemed to kick in, making her run toward my car, throwing herself in.
I was tearing off before she even closed her door, pulling down the closest cross street, then another, trying to get as far away from the Bratva as possible if they were going to follow.
It wasn’t until I was stuck at a red light that I finally looked over.
To find her hyperventilating.
With blood dripping down her arm.
CHAPTER THREE
Elizabeth
I didn’t sleep all night, tossing and turning, trying to decide what I was supposed to do.
Did I go to the police?
With what proof?
All I had was my word on what I overheard.
Sure, I had the name Dimitri. But I had to imagine there were more than a few criminals with that name in Brooklyn or the city as a whole.
And who was going to believe a random woman running a reelection campaign over an incumbent, highly respected, senator?
It was in the shower the next morning that I decided that my move would have to be to get evidence.
New York was a one-party consent state. Meaning if I was a part of a conversation involving corruption, I could record it without the other party knowing. But I couldn’t record a conversation between two other people without permission.
Short of finding actual paperwork proving a connection to Russian criminals that I could turn over to the police, my only choice was to try to get Michael to speak to me about it.
Or, of course, just record him illegally and then anonymously upload it to social media. Let the internet take it from there. Though, I’d have to make sure I could upload it without it tracing back to me. There were hefty fines for that kind of thing. Not to mention the several year prison sentence.
Or, of course, I could make sure there were no fingerprints or anything… and drop it off at a news station.
There were options.
Ways for this to get out there.
Without it tracing back to me.
But the public had to know that the politician they voted in was corrupt.
It would be risking my job. Especially if his fall from grace was swift.